


Foil

by dmdiane



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Protection, Trust, post Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 14:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmdiane/pseuds/dmdiane
Summary: Foil /noun/2. a person or thing that contrasts with and thus emphasizes and enhances the qualities of another.synonyms: contrast, complement, antithesis, relief





	Foil

The manicured fingers of Eve Moneypenny fly silently over the surface of the tablet, capturing each nuance of the meeting unfolding around her, whilst she both tracks the agent assignment queue in a separate window and listens with preternatural care to the nuances of Gareth Mallory’s voice including his silences. The sharp as a knife silence following the Prime Minister’s fourth comment speculating about improved security after Brexit despite extensive intelligence indicating the opposite is Moneypenny’s cue to summon the car. She waits until the halfway point of Mallory’s reply and sends an alert to his phone.

“Excuse me, ” he feigns, glancing at the screen. “This is critical. Apologies, ma’am.” He unfolds and stands. “Same time next week.”

Moneypenny is already near the door, still swiftly managing data on her tablet.

“It’s always a pleasure, Gareth.” The Prime Minister says brightly. “Until next week, then.”

Mallory strides across the broad office space and out the door, he stalks the hallway swiftly, impatience in every stride. Eve easily keeps pace, despite his having three inches height advantage. They move in easy synchronization earned through almost five years of near inseparability. They leave Number 10 and step directly into the security limousine.

Mallory sighs. “Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

“I was likely to bite.”

“Indeed.”

He settles against the car’s leather seats slowly. It takes him some time to wind either up or down. He is a deliberate man. She likes that about him. She’s plowed through the approvals on two department budget submissions with her questions highlighted and returned to the division heads - it’s that time of the year - when his head hits the headrest. She pauses in her work and slides a hand across the leather to where his rests. Their little fingers touch and link, tighten and release. Their code. A brush that represents the boundless warmth and support of their complicated relationship. She feels more than sees the last bit of tension seep from him.

Confident he will return to work with energy and purpose, she opens the observation window on the current mission in Peru where 004 was last struggling with a lost contact and some serious pursuit. An IM box pops up:

 

 

> _Q: seriously?_
> 
> _003: just curious_
> 
> _Q: uh huh_
> 
> _003: well done, you_
> 
> _Q: bugger right off_
> 
> _003: Have you eaten?_
> 
> _Q: OMG_
> 
> _Q: did he put you up to..._
> 
> _Q: I can very well care for myself. Thank you._
> 
> _003: calm down and answer the question_
> 
> _…_
> 
> _003: I will send refreshments_  
> 

 

Eve chuckles and taps up a nearby Indian restaurant frequented by the minions and places a large order. She lowers the window and asks the driver to make the stop.

Budget reviews take longer than either of them planned. When the last page is reviewed, Eve arranges Gareth’s escort home. All’s as quiet as it ever gets. She can afford a few more hours to get ahead. She wrangles research for two upcoming missions. She fulfills 007’s request to make sure Q goes home before dark. Though she refuses to surrender her 00 designation of 3 and re-qualifies annually, she loves her job as the topmost analyst and M’s closest security. As much as she can enjoy the more visceral pleasures of field work, she prefers brainier tasks, a higher security level and not least of all the heady responsibility. She glances up and sees it’s past eight. She reluctantly closes her laptop and secures the office. She calls for a driver.

On the other side of their security staff and systems, Gareth stretches on the couch, an e-reader propped on his arm. “What kept you?”

“Nothing of any importance.” Eve muses, shaking her head. She drops a kiss on his lips. She sinks onto the edge of the couch. “Budge up.” She nudges him with her hip until he makes room. She slips off her shoes and leans back on his legs. They have a very strict ‘no work at home’ rule. She twists a kink out of her back. “Unzip me?”

He slots the e-reader between the cushions and draws the zipper on the back of her sheath down. “If you need any more help with that?”

She flashes him a grin that lights her eyes. “I was thinking about putting on joggers and a t-shirt. I can use all the help I can get.”

He sits to take her in his arms, her back to his chest, kisses along her neck and across a shoulder. He hums. She trails fingers along his forearms, hugging him closer. Hungry for him, she lifts her feet to the cushions and turns with sylph-like grace to press him back to the couch, fitting herself between his legs. He cups the back of her head and crushes his mouth to hers in a fiery kiss that scorches and then simmers, easing into sweetness. She moans at the heat sparking up behind her sternum, the blissful want that accompanies him.

Strong hands slide up her thighs, peeling her dress up until they rest on bare hips and tug her close. He’s hard against her, his breath quickening. She growls. He is the best welcome. She wraps arms around his neck for the leverage to arch until she’s pressing against him entirely, slipping her panties away. His answering groan ripples, vibrating in her lungs.

She straddles his hips, taking him in a long wet slide. Her senses tunnel until there’s nothing but him, rhythm, squeeze, heaven. He sits, an entirely new angle that makes both of them gasp. He cradles her face in his hands and kisses her. Hard. Drinks her. She shudders in his hands, so close.

She quakes apart and he’s just getting started. Gorgeous over him, silvery streetlight touches her through the curtains. She is his comfort and his protection, his foil in this and every other way. He rocks her through her beautiful, desperate orgasm, his own pleasure mounting. He’s typically gentle with her, his most greedy, primal urges tamped way back. He enjoys pleasing her, she engulfs him, completing them.

He slips away, earning a whispered curse. Surging forward, he replaces his cock with hand and mouth, growling. She scrapes nails over his scalp, relaxes under him, hips rising. Mine, she thinks, as thoughts shift to motion. He lifts her knee and plunges into her, covering her mouth and swallowing her moan. She takes him deep, nipping his bottom lip in encouragement. He buries himself hard in her, bottoming out against her cervix, branding her with his cock, hands, and mouth. The satisfying slap of skin on skin drives them faster and deeper until she’s gasping and lightning rips through her again, closing her eyes, throwing her head back in pure release. He comes in a long lingering spurt of liquid warmth, his hips slowing to a rock, breath harsh and ragged from the effort. For a moment she’s spinning, then he’s there, kissing her, wound tightly around her. There are reasons it’s called falling.

She doesn’t have any idea where they are, what they are. Just him. Just them. She nuzzles her face deep into his neck, breathes in the wonderful smells of his shampoo, soap, sex, detergent, all things she associates with him.

Eve frames his face, smiles, kisses his mouth. “Love you.” Very soft. Because they’re more together than they could ever be as individuals.

“Love you.” His is a whisper, gruff, a huff against her mouth.

“God, you are lovely.” She whispers against his ear.

His laugh rumbles around her. “Hardly.”

She's cured him of explicitly lamenting his age or state, even if she hasn't quite convinced him he's gorgeous. She finds him so. She wriggles and fits her legs around his waist, holding him fast. He is spectacularly sharp and fierce, imposing one moment and dearly precious the next. He pierces her with brilliant knowing blue eyes. She returns his stare, falling into his gaze, the gaze that holds her captive.

“Lovely.” She insists.

They look into each other as their bodies ease, as he shifts to lie beside her, still wrapped in her limbs. They breathe each other’s air as breath resets, her fingers idly trace from his brow to his jaw, his frame her ribs, his thumbs soothing circles under her breasts. Sometimes she thinks these are the finest moments of loving him, floating in the haze after lovemaking where the reciprocation of affection sinks from passion into worship and they are neither of them alone.

The couch is not comfortable enough to keep them there long. Reluctant to get on with the evening they shift and resettle, pet and cuddle. Eve is the first to stretch.

“Let’s rinse off and tuck you into those joggers.” He murmurs into her neck. She offers a muffled agreement.

They slowly untangle from one another, bumping and brushing against each other as they sit, collect up clothes, stand and make their slow way through the bedroom to the en-suite. There is a question about dinner. There is the anticipation of steamy hot water and soft words to wrap around another day. The life they’ve chosen is one full of challenge and skill. They’ve also become skilled in savoring the afterglow of love and the promise of peace in the margins.


End file.
